R2R Europe

A very long hard day. From Dover across the English Channel by Ferry to the French Port of Calais. We arrived in Dover looking like drowned rats. Bought our tickets for the Ferry and had to get in line with hundreds of vehicles including trucks and passenger vehicles. The two dummies were the only motorcycles on this Ferry journey.

Slogging through the wind and rain as it worsened. A midway petrol stop and on we went towards the Port of Dover.

The rain continued and became heavier. The wind gusts were around 60kph and ambient temperatures hovered below 8 degrees C.

A sunny but cold morning greeted us as we packed the bikes and headed out from the Grafton Guest House on our way to the petrol station next to the port area. As became the typical event for many legs of our trip...the clouds blew over us in the fuel stop and the heavens basically opened up. We looked at one another and reached for our wet weather gear as we set out on a 160km stint towards the Dover Port area.

Bikes are running well and we are looking forward to leaving on our journey.

The bikes started OK. We could leave the Bonded Warehouse and test the bikes thoroughly through the local roads and highways to ensure everything functioned correctly. Tyres were pumped up and a fresh load of fuel in our petrol tanks.

First riding in England after we left the Port of Felixtowe. Back to base, the Grafton Guest House to final pack the bikes and be ready to leave the next morning bound for Dover.

Arrived at Bonded Warehouse at the Port of Felixtowe. Packing the bikes, reconnecting batteries and meeting another Aussie doing the same.

Day one in Felixtowe. A walk along the promenade and a well deserved rest in the cold blustery conditions. A full explanation of the train journeys from Paris and a small snapshot of our location along the beach in Felixtowe.

Arrival at Felixtowe UK. Our time in Paris was very brief but the journey on the bikes must proceed. From the Novatel in Paris we negotiated the Paris underground dragging two very heavy suitcases each. When our train ticket failed to unlock the entry turnstyle allowing us entry to train platform, Sol jumped over the turnstyle and dragged his bags through from below. For me this was not an option. With a failing right hip I was not up for gymnastics so I took the low road and crawled under the turnstyle with my bags in tow. Lucky no security people were on site at the time. This local train took us to the centre of Paris where we switched to a train headed for the Port of Calais where the Paris-Nord train under the English Channel would see us arrive in London. The problem in London was that I had booked Sol's ticket to Ipswich correctly but mine was dated incorrectly (a silly typo on my part) and did not allow me access to a seat. I had no choice but to buy a new ticket or I would be a resident of London for tonight. We arrived in Ipswich eventually and then booked a one carriage train to Felixtowe...a trip of some 20kms. We arrived at the end of the line, literally and called a local taxi to take us to the Grafton Guest House, our booked lodging for the next two nights. Our bikes had arrived in the Port of Felixtowe about 2 weeks earlier and we eagerly awaited a visit to the port to collect the bikes and begin our long journey.

Of the many and varied sites surrounding us in Paris, the local Parisian beauty did not evade us.

Fortunately a beautiful day to see the iconic Paris landmark.

A day in Paris. We found a motorcycle repair shop in a back laneway. They gave us great advice about a later destination in France. We found the Eiffel Tower after doing ridiculous circles in the local streets. We found a Kosher Butcher shop close to our Hotel and the fear that emblazoned the owners face told us much about rampant anti semitism here caused mainly by the heavy influx of Muslim Arabs into France and indeed much of Europe. We found a Chevrolet dealership with the latest Corvettes for sale there. We found the most delicious food in a local market, in local patisserie stores and in one local Deli on the way back from the Eiffel Tower. We spent several hours in the Deli, eating, drinking, talking about what lay ahead.

For me visiting Betty and Gilbert in Paris was the highlight of the trip. While Sol slept that first afternoon, I took two separate trains to reach Gilbert and Betty's apartment block on the south east part of Paris. When I arrived at the apartment block I was overwhelmed with anticipation. Running on adrenalin was the order of this day. I knew this would be my only opportunity to see my family in Paris so I had to make sure it happened. I called Gilbert from the hotel at about 1.30pm when we were finally able to take possession of our room. The hotel staff had not prepared the room in time for our earlier arrival so we had a delay and stored our bags in their lock up security room and went out to walk and buy some lunch. Once settled the call to Gilbert greeted me with a "please come now, since we need to be somewhere later tonight". I told Gilbert it will take me about an hour and that I would leave right away. He spoke no English, I spoke no French. We both however spoke the mama Loshen...Yiddish so communication was possible. Upon arriving at their apartment block I rang their apartment intercom and asked if I should come up in the elevator. They were on a high floor. Gilbert replied that I should wait at the elevator and he will come down to get me. When the elevator door opened I smiled broadly and very excitedly. He was a little more subdued and seemed as though he was unsure what type of person he was allowing into his home. He knows I'm family but as we all know the individual person can still be someone he may not wish to interact with until he feels comfortable that I'm the type of person he hopes I am. It took very little time for all of us to bond and communicate as though we lived in the same city and were close. Betty and Gilbert were wonderful. I brought Mary's Genealogical family tree of the Goldfarbs (my mother's and Gilbert's mother's family) so we could fully discuss the linkages. Of significance to me was the fact that I could ask Gilbert about all the details of exactly when his parents left Poland for France. I could ask about how his parents and older brother survived the war in hiding, How he survived in a Catholic orphanage as a very young boy because of the kindness and bravery of the Catholic priest who ran the orphanage. Details also of his sister Blima, who was caught by the French Police by being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Her transport to Auschwitz began in Paris and was facilitated by a train ride to Drancy in Paris from where huge numbers of French Jews were train transported to Krakow in south western Poland only 60kms from their last port of call on this earth, Auschwitz. Also known as the Polish town of Oswiecim. The Germans called this town Auschwitz in German and refused to use the Polish place name. The journey for Blima and so many tens of thousands of French Jews was more than 1500kms of hell in itself. Many died on the journey without food, water or any sanitary conditions. My visit continued with Betty and Gilbert including a short meeting with one of their daughters Sophie. As I first said, this was the best 3 hours of the whole trip for me. I was able to talk to, laugh with, reminisce with and become fully at home with the last remaining vestige of my mother's family in Europe. They were wonderful. A year earlier I had been fortunate enough to ship my bike to Israel and ride Israel from top to bottom and most places in between. I visited with Betty and Gilbert's other daughter Karinne who had moved from France to Israel some 18 years earlier. When it was time to leave their apartment Betty and Gilbert refused to let me take the train back to my hotel. They drove me the whole way through some of the scenic sections of Paris itself. It was emotional and painful saying goodbye. Unfortunately, this year...2021 Gilbert passed away from a long term illness. Betty and Sophie and her children have now moved to Israel to be near Karinne so the family is together there. Hopefully I will be able to visit with them in the foreseeable future. If I had not made this trip to Europe I would have never met with Gilbert. He was exactly the same as my mother's description of Gilbert's mother (my mother's Aunt Hinda)...a wonderful person. Baruch Dayan Emet

Arrival in Paris after the long flight was good. We were tired of course but the weather was cool and without any rain. We took the train from the airport to the center of Paris where we would spend the night in one of the Novatel Hotels in the city.

At Melbourne Airport ready to board. We both know this will be a journey fraught with danger, excitement, sadness and elation but most of all...discovery and emotional pain.

My final morning walk. Mary is under the weather with a bad cold so I'm on my own. At this point in time all we can do is hope for the best. I've tried to think of everything but one never knows what pitfalls or challenges will lay ahead. I've never been to Europe so familiarity is something out of the picture. Frankly, being there as a tourist as Sol has been will really not prepare anyone for the type of journey I've been planning for the last 3-4 years. A motorcycle ride covering the distances required with no logistical back up is at the best of times a daunting task. We will not have the luxury of a support vehicle and crew like the typical adventurers one sees in cash infused documentaries. We really don't care. Our journey is in the hands of our creator and the spirits of our forebears.

Planning phase # 2 where to two putzes have just made final arrangements. G-D knows if any of this will actually work.

Planning phase. No surprise, Sol is putzing around with his phone.

Final planning has been done. Our bikes have actually reached the Port of Felixtowe in England so we have our final few days before leaving for Melbourne Airport. Our first stop will be Paris where I have the last of my mothers relatives living. In fact her 1st cousin Gilbert, his wife Betty and daughter Sophie live there. Gilbert is the younger son of Hinda, my mother's aunt. Hinda moved to France with her husband in 1927 from Poland. Hinda's daughter, Gilbert's older sister was captured by the French Police in Paris who handed her over to the nazis. She was transported to Auschwitz along with thousands of French Jews and she was murdered there along with untold numbers of others who suffered a similar fate. Our plan was to arrive in Paris, spend a few days there, take the train to London and then to Felixtowe to pick up the bikes to begin our journey.